


Getting Caught in the Rain

by levele3



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crowley Is A Pine Tree In Sunglasses, Drinking, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Mutual Pining, getting caught in the rain, lonely hearts letters, the 80's, the Pina Colada Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levele3/pseuds/levele3
Summary: A fic inspired by Escape (The Piña Colada Song) By Rupert Holmes.It's early 1980 and once again Crowley and Aziraphale are not on speaking terms. To help fill the void left by the Angel Crowley has been writing letters to a stranger in hopes of making a new friend. He feels like his night is ruined when Aziraphale shows up to the same pub as him with no chance of leaving."His heart stopped and his smile fell, just a bit. Aziraphale. Aziraphale had just walked through the door. What the hell was he doing here? Please don’t let him see me, Crowley mockingly prayed. How embarrassing. They were on the outs. Crowley was supposed to be here meeting someone else. Of all the blessed things."
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Getting Caught in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! As the summary states this fic was inspired by Escape, better known as "The Piña Colada Song"   
> The song is referenced in the title of the fic as well as references through out.   
> The teen rating is for one instance of Crowley swearing (he drops the F-bomb) and obviously the drinking otherwise it's a pretty G fic.   
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

**London, England 1980**

They had fought, _again_ , him and the angel. A falling out. Not as bad as the fight of 1862. About the Holy Water. But bad enough they were currently not speaking, and it had ended in a similar way.

 _I have other people to_ fraternize _with, Angel._

The words still stung. Ringing hollow and untrue even in his own mind. After the fallout of that fight Crowley had slept away the better part of a century. Well, _not this time_ , he thought, checking himself out in the mirror. Crowley was wearing a strapless black jumpsuit with a wide red snakeskin belt around his waist. He paired it with a black blazer that had red satin lining, and a pair of sturdy black platform shoes. It was the ‘80s after all.

In an attempt to get his mind off the Angel Crowley had decided to do something he had never done before in his life. He answered a Lonely Hearts ad. Right now, he was getting ready to go out, to a pub, and meet a stranger, maybe even make a friend. Marking friends with humans over the years had been few and far between. They lived such short lives. It was difficult getting attached and then watching them fade away. Most people he knew had died young. Crowley hoped that didn’t say anything about him personally. It was all a coincidence. Part of Her plan, no doubt.

With shaking fingers, he reached once more for the most recent correspondence from his new friend, and read;

 _I shall be carrying a single white rose, so that you can identify me_.

His red hair reached down to his shoulders and he used a quick miracle to make it big and poufy. Any human would have needed half a bottle of hairspray to achieve the look Crowley had created in mere seconds. He finished off his look with a pair of large golden hoop earrings that had little white roses along the bottom half. Crowley had put on a touch of mascara and eye liner but had forgone any other makeup.[1] He was still presenting male. Mostly. Things like gender had never been applied to angels before the war in heaven. In fact gender hadn’t been a thing until somebody[2] had tempted Eve to eat an apple. Then all hell broke loose.[3]

Crowley scoffed. While Aziraphale had more or less retained the form of a man-shaped being over the course of the centuries, Crowley had taken many liberties. It had been needed for assignments. Sometimes being perceived as a woman was crucial to the success of a temptation. Crowley was always alluring, no matter the form he took. It had taken him a good long while to notice that though. With one last look at himself in the mirror and a single nod of approval Crowley was off, secure in the knowledge that tonight would be a good night. 

***

Crowley sat alone at the bar. He sipped his drink and wondered not for the first time, if his new friend might not be coming. Perhaps something had come up? Every time the door opened, he looked over waiting for the man with a white rose. Every time he had been left feeling bereft. He would hastily take another sip of his drink and pray no one would notice his melancholy mood.

_I’ll finish this drink_ , he thought, _and if he hasn’t come by then, I’ll leave_. 

When he had perhaps two or three more mouthfuls left the door opened again. Crowley turned with anticipation, his very human heart thudding in his chest, his breathing quickened, and a smile twitch at his lips.

His heart stopped and his smile fell, just a bit. _Aziraphale_. Aziraphale had just walked through the door. What the hell was he doing here? _Please don’t let him see me_ , Crowley mockingly prayed. How embarrassing. They were on the outs. Crowley was supposed to be here meeting someone else. Of all the blessed things. 

***

Aziraphale gave a through look around the pub. He was so sure he would know whom he was meeting at first sight. The person would be sitting alone, most likely. Anxious perhaps. They would have been waiting for him for a while now. A flash of red hair caught his sight and, _oh no_. _Crowley_. What the heaven was Crowley doing here. He _couldn’t_ be here. _Not now_. Aziraphale did a quick miracle to vanish the white rose he was carrying. Crowley would only make fun of him if he knew why he was here. _I simply must make him leave_ , Aziraphale thought as he marched his way over to the demon sitting at the bar. 

“You need to leave,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“Hullo to you too, Angel,” Crowley replied. He refused to look at the angel. If he looked he would cave. If nothing else Crowley knew his weak spots. Although, Aziraphale’s tone was curt, even for him.[4]

“I mean it,” Aziraphale asserted a little more firmly, this really wasn’t his area.

“Wot brings you here?” Crowley asked lazily, still not giving his angel the satisfaction of looking at him directly. Out of the corner of his eye though Crowley had noticed Aziraphale was rather done up. His outfit consisted of the same camel pants and velvet waistcoat Crowley had come to expect, but his hair seemed to actually be styled, and was that a new bowtie the angel was sporting?

“I’m meeting someone,” Aziraphale hissed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, such an interesting turn of events… “As it happens, so am I,” he drawled. _What were the chances_?

Aziraphale snorted, “well then,” he huffed.

The angel was obviously annoyed, but Crowley wasn’t going to give any ground. If his own date failed to show he figured watching Aziraphale stumble his way through a similar encounter would be entertaining enough.

“We could always, I dunno, wait together?” Crowley suggested, not really expecting Aziraphale to take the bait. Still he arched a hopeful eyebrow. 

Much to his surprise Aziraphale took the seat next to Crowley, and let Crowley buy him a drink.

“What’s this you’re drinking then?” Aziraphale asked, pointing to Crowley’s now empty glass.

All that remained was the white foamy residue coating the sides of the glass and a cocktail cherry speared on a little sword. 

Crowley contemplated his adversary a moment before crinkling his nose and said “a fancy drink, they call it a _Piña Colada_ , you wouldn’t like it.”

Crowley picked up the tiny sword and slid his togue around the cherry pulling it off and into his mouth, stem and all. A moment later his serpentine togue popped the stem back out all twisted in a knot.

If Crowley had been paying attention to the ethereal being beside him, instead of concentrating so hard on trying to impress said ethereal being, he would have noticed the angel never once took his eyes off Crowley. As it was Aziraphale had regained his composure somewhat by the time the cherry stem made a reappearance.

“Well, I think I should be the judge of that,” Aziraphale huffed. 

Crowley signaled to the bartender for two more of the drinks and that was that. They continued to sit there in mutual silence. Sipping at their drinks and turning their heads whenever the door opened.

They almost looked like one person. Their movements were so synchronized. They would hold their breaths as they turned, so sure that instant recognition would fill them when the person they were waiting for would come through the door. As the night wore on they talked more. They stopped looking to the door every time it opened. More people were leaving now than coming in anyway. 

A neat little row of knotted cherry stems was lined up on the bar in front of them. Six in all. Aziraphale, who still hadn’t got the hang of the trick, was convinced that Crowley was using a demonic miracle to tie the stems. (He wasn’t)

Talking to each other never seemed to get boring. It wasn’t long before the angel and demon forgot what had even caused their original argument. Speaking to each other was the most natural thing in the world. Time flew as they talked and reminisced. 

At one-point Crowley had Aziraphale laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

“That was you? Oh, my dear boy, I had no idea you had been so close with di Vinci.”

To which the wily demon had coly replied, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me, angel.”

In time the rest of the pub was almost empty.

They both had the same thought, disappointed their new friend hadn’t shown up, but pleased all the same because they had got to see each other. Each had learned something new about their friend/ enemy and both secretly began to suspect they had more in common with one another than any being on “their side.”

The pair headed for the door, both swaying dangerously, nearly bumping shoulders as they stumbled outside and into the middle of a heavy downpour. The night had merely been foggy when Crowley had shown up hours before, and it was only just threating a light drizzle by the time Aziraphale had arrived. 

“Fuck me,” Crowley cursed, sobering at the sight of the sleeting, freezing cold rain.

“Oh bother,” Aziraphale bemoaned, following suite. 

If anything could put a damper on the jovial mood the two had previously been sharing, February rain in London would do it. Crowley shivered reflexively, already missing the dry warmth of the pub, and doing his blessed’ to take shelter under the meager overhang.

“Lift home?” Crowley asked tentatively. The “ _anywhere you want_ _to go”_ was, as always, best left unsaid.

Aziraphale hesitated, hoping from foot to foot. The last time Crowley had offered him a ride home also replaying in his mind.

“Please,” he agreed at last.

The ride was short, the pair were mostly quiet. Aziraphale reflected how it always seemed they were getting caught in the rain together. They had met just before the first rain after all. Aziraphale had voluntarily sheltered Crowley (then Crawly) beneath his wing. Then of course the torrential rains that had fallen on them as they scrambled for safety among the chaos of Noah’s ark. Tonight would be added to his list of memorable encounters with Crowley. A list that was steadily growing.

The rain had petered off by the time Crowley pulled the Bentley to a gentle stop outside _A.Z. Fell and Co_. a name that still made Crowley internally laugh.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, slipping from the passenger seat of the Bentley. 

He wasn’t slow to leave but neither did he rush it.

Crowley shivered at the phase, _“don’t say that”_ on the tip of his forked tongue. Instead what came out was;

“No problem, any time,” Crowley said, staring fixedly at the steering wheel. 

The door clicked shut and at last Crowley gazed across to the now empty seat. Only it wasn’t empty. 

“Oi, Aziraphale!” Crowley called, looking up, but it was too late. They angel had already slunk his way into the book shop.

“You forgot your…” Crowley’s words trailed off.

On the seat lay a perfect single white rose. 

“Now, where did you come from?” Crowley asked, curiously as he picked up the rose, mindful of its thorns and twirled it between his fingers.

He closed his eyes and brought the soft petals to his nose and inhaled deeply. Along with the scent of the rose came a sharp tang of ozone, and an even fainter hint of lilac. It was a scent Crowley knew well, the scent of Aziraphale’s miracles. But how did he know… unless? 

***

As Aziraphale exited the Bentley he remembered his original reason for going out tonight and the rose he had tucked away into the ether. In a split moment decision, he miracled it to whoever he was supposed to have met with tonight. Perhaps it was a little petty in his part but, he hoped it would at the very least make them feel guilty for not showing up and make them wonder what might have been. On the flip side of that though he really had had a lovely time with Crowley, actually talking to him and not feeling the pressures of Heaven weighing on him. He had discovered much to his delight they had more in common now than it seemed they ever did before.

As Crowley drove away into the foggy London night a song crackled through the radio. 

“ _If you like piña coladas_ …. _and getting caught in the rain_ …”

The song was catchy and Crowley instantly found himself humming along. It was a sure-fire earworm one of his greatest achievements to date. Slowly Crowley was coming down from his high of getting to spend time with Aziraphale and he remembered his original reason for going out tonight. His pen-pal hadn’t shown up and that was a bit of a blow to his ego. The white rose in the Bentley being a bit of an elephant. Crowley brushed it off as a coincidence. Aziraphale must have noticed his earrings. Yes that was it. In a move that was less malice, and more pettiness Crowley snapped his fingers triggering a demonic miracle to make this song about piña coladas play wherever his pen-pal person was. Yes that would teach them a lesson he thought. 

Across town in Aziraphale’s book shop the angel had just arranged a record of Bach on his gramophone and settled on the back sofa with a steaming cocoa. He was nodding along to the music, swishing his finger back and forth like a conductor might a wand when suddenly there came the sound of interference and some modern bebop had replaced his record of choice. 

It was a song, of all things, about the drink he and Crowley had been drinking at the pub. The change in music was also followed by the sharp-sweet scent of cinnamon and apples. The scent of Crowley’s demonic power. The tune was quite catchy and Aziraphale would find himself still humming it weeks later.

“ _Then I'm the love that you've looked for_ _, Write to me, and escape_.”

[1] It was only when he went to slip on his sunglasses, he realised how fruitless his desire to apply a bit of makeup actually was.

[2] Not naming any names…

[3] Metaphorically speaking, of course.

[4] This made Crowley more curious, and even more determined to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Also, so excited this is my 60th Fic I've posted!!! Yeah!!


End file.
